Biker Pants & The Give A Sh*t Theory

A splash of colour *shock* Yep, I’m actually wearing something that isn’t black, white, grey or beige/brown. Recognise this for the milestone that it is please!

A quarter-life reflection

A realisation that you’re never too old (or too bottom heavy) for hot chocolate and marshmallows

Let me be straight up with you here. LC was having a hard time trying to appreciate her body this weekend. I loved the faux leather pants but they weren’t really down for returning the favour. My butt was flat-packed into them like a sandwich too big for a Tupperware and my hip rolls were practically doing the cotton-eyed Joe jig all on their own. There was only one thing for it… fellas, send in the oversized coat will ya.

What was I thinking buying low rise biker pants anyway? Aren’t they reserved for the leggy elite, with spaghetti pins up to their armpits? Silly, silly me. I reckon if I tallied up every body-negative thought I had every single day, that number would be quite high; somewhere in the region of say, 30-50 to be more precise – and that’s from someone who by my own admission, is comfortable with her imperfections (however self-diagnosed they may be). I mean like, yeah sure, I’m paler than most and no, I don’t have any definition on my belly but at the same time hello, WOMB SHELTER. It’s allowed to be rounded. It may sound like a lot of negative thoughts to have in any 24 hour period, but ultimately, if these fleeting thoughts were loud enough and significant enough to me and the way I (the stronger I) feel about myself, then I wouldn’t find stuffing my face with Deliveroo on a Friday night quite so easy would I? Because that’s exactly what they are. Fleeting. I don’t allow them to dominate my head space like they used to. Personally, I feel like this is something that comes with age. Ha, aren’t you only 25? I know how it sounds, and maybe it it is just me on this one, but if at 25 you look back and think yeah I’m exactly the same as when I was 20, I’d be very surprised. Because you’re not the same girl. I mean, sh*t the bed I hope I’m different! I’d like to think I would still go out now regardless of whether my makeup had ‘gone right’ or irrespective of how inadequate I felt in the outfit I was wearing. I don’t allow those dumb arse thoughts to have the air time anymore and it feels amazeballs when you recognise that change of mind set. I still talk down to my body; I still grab at the rolls under my desk and hate myself for buying my third Pret praline cookie of the week… so my thoughts haven’t changed, not exactly. But rather what I choose to do with them has. My brain has quite literally bamboozled itself into dealing with my self-inflicted sh*tstorms.

That shift you have between the beginning of your 20s and your mid to late 20s is a beautiful transition. One that can only come into its own with experience, guts and the realisation that maybe, just maybe, you are good enough – and yes I mean good enough for you, never mind anyone else. Maybe you’re not there yet, but darling you will be! And when you are, make sure you stop for long enough to acknowledge it, because it’s a shake ya tits kinda moment.

That’s not to say you won’t have bumps in the road. Sure – you’ll lift up your top to find nothing but a quarter-age spread staring back at you, and you’ll feel a sudden urge to either spend 4 hours in the gym OR crack open your ol’ pal merlot. Of course you will, you’re not invincible. But your ability to rationalise those negative thoughts and decipher them for how invaluable they really are? That’s what sets you apart from the 20 year old you. Sometimes, you’ll wonder if she was ever really part of your backstory at all. But she was. She was integral to it. After all, she was the one that got you to this point! So just imagine how much further you’ll climb by the time you reach 30.

And btw, the quantum leap obviously isn’t limited to how you feel about yourself on the outside – I use appearance as an example purely because we’re talking about unforgiving pleather pants here. But once you hit ya mid 20s you just do all the changing baby girllll. I like to think it’s because you begin to apply ‘the give a sh*t theory’ to the majority of worries in your life: will my boss think I’m a moron if I don’t nail this presentation? Give a sh*t. Should I really be in a serious relationship right now or else be deemed a lost cause forever? Give a sh*t. If my last Google search was ‘how do I list my cat as next of kin?’ does that make me insane? Give a sh*t. And if I still don’t know how to pronounce quinoa does that mean I have led a sheltered, uncultured life? Give a SHHHH*T. And may I just say, what even is quinoa… I mean it’s not a rice, it’s not a bean, it’s not a grain – if anyone needs to go to Bali and find themselves it’s f*cking quinoa.

Woah there. That’s a lot to get from a bloody pair of biker pants Lareese – DEEP Deirdre over here. I bet you’re thinking gee wiz I only wanted to find out where those tacky star earrings were from. But for those of you that are still with me and feeling the quarter life feels, let’s wrap this up shall we? Even if you are thinking your legs are too strong for tight, low rise pleather trousers you should just go right on ahead and apply a sprinkle of the give a sh*t theory. Are you hearing me? Buy the pants dude, drink the hot chocolate with marshmallows and bloody well sign your cat up as next of kin, ‘cos you are 25 and you can handle yo shizzle however recklessly you want. Love you bye!